Behind Closed Doors
by DiacetylSunshine
Summary: Young, sexy therapist Edward meets emotionally troubled client Bella. Sparks fly. Ethics are questioned. Sexy time ensues anyway. 254-char summaries are difficult, just read if you're interested. I promise grammatically correct and plot-driven content.
1. Chapter 1

Another day, another dose of monotonous drivel.

I fought to keep my head up as the droning lulled me into an astoundingly relaxed state. It was amazing how soothing his tiresome voice could be…

"Eep!" I shrieked, then quieted myself as I felt a stab in my side. Alice had once again taken it upon herself to keep me awake for the duration of biology class, this time with a seemingly deadly ink pen.

"Ahem," Mr. Banner cleared his throat and looked pointedly at me. I straightened up, then nodded embarrassedly for him to continue. He did, without missing a beat.

_So, about last weekend…_ Alice had scribbled on her notebook. Of course, she disturbed my nap not for my educational benefit, but so she could gush about her latest schoolgirl crush.

_What about it?_ I scrawled back. I honestly didn't really care about him or what she did with him, but her latest fling would certainly be more interesting than the mechanism of photosynthesis.

_OMG, you will not believe it…_ Alice happily spent minutes at a time detailing her escapade in excruciating detail, leaving me to let my mind wander in the interim. When she did demand a response, I graced her with an "Oh, how interesting," or, "Wow!"

The bell rang, much to Mr. Banner's and Alice's dismay. The students shuffled out of the classroom in their drowsy stupor.

Alice followed me as I worked my way out of the classroom. "So anyway, everything was going fine until I saw that he was wearing black socks with brown shoes, and then it was all over," she stopped and looked at me for affirmation. "Bella? Did you hear me? I said he was wearing _black socks and brown shoes!_"

I looked down at my hyperactive best friend. "I'm surprised you didn't confiscate his shoes right there," I managed to mumble. As much as I loved Alice, I wished she would leave me to suffer through the school day in peace.

"I know, right? Anyway…" Alice bobbed at my shoulder all the way to English class, lamenting this poor fool's lack of color coordination.

I finally made my way to English after winding my way through the herds of mindless drones and threw myself into my usual inconspicuous corner seat. Mrs. Drake, the incompetent instructor du jour, was already busy passing back last week's poetry portfolios.

"Mr. Newton, Angelina Jolie is not an appropriate topic for your portfolio, no matter how poetically you feel you described her 'lush backside,'" she tsked at one student. "Mr. Cheney, adequate work," she sighed as she tossed a folder to a quiet classmate. She caught my eye and worked her way back to my secluded corner. Oh great.

"Miss Brandon, you have some interesting insights on love in here," she said as she handed Alice her work.

Alice's face brightened. "Oh, it turns out I didn't actually love him. I just-"

"Fascinating," Mrs. Drake cut her off. "Miss Swan, see me after class," she gave me a death stare as she pushed my portfolio into my hands. I reciprocated her gaze and she marched back to the front of the room.

"What do you think it is this time?" Alice inquired, leaning over to see my work. "You weren't sexually explicit or anything, were you?"

I managed a small laugh. "No," I replied, "I left the gratuitous fanfiction to Mike up there."

"So what do you think it could be? This cow doesn't think you're plagiarizing, does she? God, I hate these stupid teachers!"

"Maybe," I shrugged. Throughout my educational career, I had experienced many an overzealous teacher bent on exposing my alleged plagiarism. In reality, these teachers simply couldn't comprehend that they had found a student with a basic mastery of the English language. Although I wouldn't put it past her, Mrs. Drake, so far, had not been so foolish as to accuse me of cheating, and I doubted she would start now. The assignment had been overly easy- we were tasked with composing our own poems around a central theme. Really, how hard could it be to slop together some words with no structure or punctuation? I personally just pulled pieces from my personal repertoire and handed them in, not caring to put effort into such a meaningless assignment.

"Or maybe she wants to publish you! You're really good, you know!" Alice bubbled.

I gave a halfhearted smile. "Maybe," I appeased her. Alice was always looking on the most optimistic side of situations. Although I'm certain it made for a rosy little outlook, I couldn't help but feel that Alice was entirely unrealistic and would someday see the error of her ways.

Alice and the rest of my peers finally quieted down when Mrs. Drake put in a movie. _Hamlet_. Well, at least it had a happy ending, right?

I dozed during the movie. One can really only watch Kenneth Branagh so many times before attempting suicide, and he was one of Drake's favorites. It was only last month that I had suffered through his rendition of _Much Ado About Nothing_. No, the only option here was to sleep, and perchance, to dream.

I did not dream. I had not been dreaming for quite a while, which was perfectly acceptable to me, as I typically had unpleasant nightmares when I did. None of which, however, were as unpleasant as waking to Drake's face next to mine.

"Ahh!" I yelled, jumping back out of my chair. The bitch had been hovering over me, leering, possibly waiting for me to wake up. I glanced around, fearful of my classmates' reaction. They were gone. It was just Drake and me, and I had the distinct impression that she was going to drag me out back and bludgeon me.

She stood up and moved to sit in another chair. I quickly stood and grabbed my backpack. "Detention, then," I stated, knowing full well the usual punishment.

Drake just gave me her blank stare. "Have a seat, Miss Swan," she gestured.

I sat uneasily. I was fully aware of the school's policy on behavioral infractions, and though I knew she couldn't legally give me more than detention, she could try, and I would have to expend more effort than I wished to get out of it.

"Your behavior has been quite alarming these past few months, Miss Swan."

I continued to stare. That statement did not require a response.

She continued, "You've been lethargic, quiet, and nonresponsive in class."

I wanted to congratulate her on stating the obvious, but she wasn't worth the energy.

She frowned when I remained mute. "Your personality has changed significantly since I met you as a freshman. You were vibrant and argumentative and brilliant, but now you appear empty, soulless. Other teachers are worried as well."

Other teachers? Since when have I become teachers' lounge gossip? And why don't these people have lives?

She sighed at my obstinate silence, "I would have let you be, and chalked it up to senioritis, but your portfolio alarmed me. As an educator, it is my responsibility to inform Dr. Harris of the self-destructive themes present in your poetry."

Oh no, I was not letting this happen. That guidance counselor was the bane of my existence, and I was not spending another free period in his office. I finally spoke, "It's fiction. This is a class over fictitious literature. Am I not allowed to explore a theme so broadly used by countless classic writers? Writers _you_ encouraged us to read, respect, and emulate?" That's right. It's her fault. She can't report me now.

Drake sighed again, "Miss Swan, you and I both know full well that you wrote these in your extracurricular time. I heard Miss Brandon's shrill voice exclaim that she wished she wrote poetry for fun so she wouldn't have to spend her weekend writing 'this crap.'"

Shit. Damn Alice for her high, loud voice. Damn Mrs. Drake for having nothing better to do with her time. Damn me for sharing something personal and attempting to pass it off as drivel.

She continued, "Anyway, I'm not even required to inform you that I forwarded your work along to Dr. Harris, but I thought I would as a courtesy. You can expect an appointment with him sometime in the near future."

I glared at her.

She hesitated, then spoke again, "You shouldn't view this as an attack. I was merely concerned for your well-being."

I'm sure she was. I got up and left her classroom without so much as a goodbye. I stormed through the halls, burning off steam before I made it to the cafeteria. I was furious that she had the nerve to intrude on _my_ personal life. So what if I wrote emo poetry? There was no substantial evidence that I didn't just emulate Dickinson or Poe. She just needed something to do to make herself feel powerful and needed.

My steps slowed and I no longer felt the burst of righteous anger that had fueled my marching just seconds ago. I couldn't help but feel that I had put myself in this situation by being lazy and turning in recreational poetry for the assignment. It really was my fault, not Drake's. Yeah, she was a bitch, but I fed her bitchiness by giving her something to do with it. I felt a weight drop onto my shoulders as I shuffled into the cafeteria, contemplating my own stupidity.

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A/N: This is the first story I've had the nerve to publish. If you like it, review it, because I'm not going to continue without feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

"Bella!" Alice's voice rang out over the roar of the student body. She waved me over to our table as if I had not sat there for every lunch period in my high school career. I pushed my way through the crowds, forcing myself through a group of freshman gawking at So-and-So's new tongue piercing, and sat at my familiar table.

"Oh my god, Bella, I'm so sorry!" Alice squeaked before I had a chance to set my bag down. "I was trying to wake you up, but then the bell went off and Drake yelled at me to get out! I even sent you a text, hoping you had your phone on vibrate."

I pulled out my phone. It was on silent. Damn. "It's okay, Alice, I managed to get out without a detention."

Alice's eyes widened, "Really? That's great! You must be her favorite!"

"Bella is whose favorite?" A voice sounded behind me. Alice and I looked around to see my boyfriend standing behind us.

"Oh hey Jake," Alice replied. "I was just saying that she's Drake's favorite because she can sleep in class with no repercussions."

Jacob glared at me, "You shouldn't be sleeping in class."

I flinched. I did not want to get into this argument. "I know," I said sheepishly, "I was just up late last night and really tired, and…"

Jacob cut me off, "Then you need to go to bed earlier. You're going to bed at nine o'clock tonight."

Alice responded, "You can't make her go to bed at nine, Jake, that's stupid. She's eighteen years old."

Jacob ignored Alice and glared at me.

Alice turned to me expectantly.

I caved. "I'll be in bed by nine, Jake."

Jacob put his hand on mine, "That's my girl." He turned to the person next to me, "Hey, that's my girlfriend, move."

I looked up to see Leah Clearwater scurry out of the way, glaring forcefully at me. I didn't understand why she should glare at me- I'm not the one who told her to move.

"So, Bella, my house after school?" Alice looked at me pleadingly.

"Yeah, of course," I replied.

Jacob glared at me, then Alice, then returned to shoveling in his food.

Alice rolled her eyes once she was sure he could not see. "Anyway, we can do that stupid Bio assignment, and then you are getting a manicure, because you've been biting those nails again."

I didn't really want a manicure, but hanging out with Alice was one of the few things that made me happy, so I consented.

"Great! Meet at my car, okay?" Alice gave me a hug and flitted off to her locker where she would undoubtedly change her shoes before her next class.

Jacob waited for Alice to completely leave the room before he turned to me, "I don't think you should hang out with Alice so much."

"Why not?" I asked. Alice and I had been the best of friends since preschool.

"I don't think she's a very good influence, that's all."

"Well, would you rather hang out with me this afternoon?" I asked.

"Oh, no," he laughed, "Quil, Embry, and I are headed to the gym. But you should stay home, I'll give you a call."

I blinked a few times before responding, "Okay, Jake, I'll just wait by the phone for you."

My sarcasm was lost on him. "Yeah, you do that. Anyway, see you later, babe."

He walked away without waiting for my response. I suppose that was just as well, as I hated being called "babe."

I sat awkwardly, listening to the babble of the people around me until the bell rang. I found the bell depressing, as it announced the start of study hall. At least I could sleep.

As I walked into the room, the teacher stopped me. "Swan, counselor," he said as he pushed a hall pass onto me.

I wordlessly rolled my eyes and turned on my heel back out the door. I tried to build myself up for the fight that would inevitably ensue in Dr. Harris' office.

I marched past the guidance secretary and straight into his office. If he wasn't ready for me, he shouldn't have sent the pass down. If he wouldn't respect my naptime, I wouldn't respect his office time.

Harris was waiting for me, probably because he expected this level of disrespect from me. "Have a seat, Isabella," he gestured.

I remained standing.

Harris remained unaffected. "I've had a talk with some of your teachers regarding your behavior and work ethic, Isabella."

I stared him down. I knew he couldn't read my poker face.

But I could read his, and he was keeping up the "calm and caring" façade quite well. "Frankly, we're all concerned. You've been showing distinct signs of depression for more than two semesters now, and you've indicated a desire to inflict harm upon yourself in your writing for English class."

I refrained from making a sarcastic remark.

His voice strained with irritation at my silence, "So, I've decided that you will no longer receive a free period on Mondays."

The sarcastic center of my brain twitched. "That's great. So, I'm going home. Bye," I replied, turning to leave.

"Miss Swan."

"Dr. Harris."

"I'm referring you to our on-staff counselor."

"And I'm refusing your referral to your on-staff counselor."

"This is non-negotiable."

"You're right. I'm not talking to this dude, and you can't talk me into it."

"You can see the counselor willingly, or I can bring your parents into this matter."

I paused. The last thing I needed was Charlie and Renee's involvement. Harris: 1; Swan: 0.

"I'm not doing this as a punishment, Isabella. Sometimes it's helpful just to have someone there to be a sounding board. You can vent and talk and de-stress with the promise of total confidentiality. Heck, I wish I could talk to him. I don't get access to a free counselor."

I remained silent. A comeback involving him taking my spot popped into my head, but it wasn't worth a phone call to Renee.

"I take your silence to be agreement. Very well. You'll see Mr. Cullen on Mondays during fifth period, and should you choose not to cooperate, I'll call a conference with your parents."

I continued to stare. I couldn't let him see that he had won.

"Would you like to meet him now? I know you don't have time for a full session today, but I think he's available," Harris tried to sound appealing, but he failed.

"No, I would rather go back to study hall." I replied in a flat voice.

"Ok, well, you're going to meet him now. You didn't actually have an option there," Harris replied in his cheery voice. He stood, walked around his desk, and placed a hand on my back to guide me out the door. I shrugged away from him.

As we walked down the hall, I imagined what this would be like. Would he be like my last shrink, who insisted I share my feelings with her stupid little puppet? Or would he be old and stereotypically Freudian, relating everything to a supposed Elektra complex? I decided on the latter. Psychologists think that all teenagers think about is sex. This guy was probably in his fifties, and fat and bald with pit stains on his short-sleeved button-up shirts. He probably wore ugly fluorescent ties and smelled like onions. I groaned internally when I thought of what this semester would bring.

Harris stopped in front of the last door and knocked. A voice beckoned him to enter. He opened the door and ushered me inside. I looked up, expecting my nightmare to materialize behind the desk. My jaw dropped. Sitting there, leaning back in the battered office chair, was the most gorgeous man upon whom I had ever laid eyes.

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A/N: Don't you wish you could get in to see a therapist that fast? Yay for fiction!

Review it and I'll love you.


	3. Chapter 3

I stared, standing in the doorway. Dr. Harris apparently took my lack of movement for another obstinate show, and put his hand on my back again to prod me forward.

"Isabella, this is Mr. Cullen," he said in his syrupy-sweet voice. "Mr. Cullen, Isabella Swan."

The god before me stood, extended his hand, and gave me a welcoming crooked smile. His green eyes smoldered into mine, and I had to look away as I shook his hand. "The pleasure is mine," he said. He ran a hand through his tousled bronze hair as he sat back down.

Perhaps Harris saw my awkward compliance as a sign of victory, because he stepped back and said, "Well then, I'll leave you to it. I trust you will cooperate, Miss Swan?"

Cooperate? I would do anything that allowed me to have Monday meetings with this Adonis, but I couldn't let Harris know that. "Yes, sir," I mumbled with my usual inflection.

"Good girl," he said condescendingly, and left the room. Ordinarily, such a comment would have left me fuming, but I had more important matters at hand, such as how I was ever going to look my new therapist in the eye, let alone speak coherently to him. I was staring at my lap, agonizing over that very thought when he spoke.

"So, Isabella," he started in his heavenly voice, "I hear you are quite the writer."

So he was going to jump into that already. Sexy or not, I wasn't going to play that game. I stared at his forehead, the least breathtaking part of his face.

He flashed me his signature smile once again, "I also heard you have quite the poker face."

My eyes narrowed. He wasn't going to win just by pointing out the obvious.

He hadn't stopped smiling. "And I see the rumors are true. Tell me, Isabella, why haven't you corrected Dr. Harris or me when we've called you by your given name?"

I was taken aback. How did this man know I preferred Bella? I wasn't going to take the bait. "Why should I correct someone who uses my name? My school records clearly identify me as Isabella Swan."

Amusement flashed across his brilliant eyes, "Your English assignment."

I continued to stare. He only wins if I let him.

His eyes sparkled at his victory, "So, do I have permission to call you Bella?"

"Yes."

He smiled wider at my response, "Will you tell me about yourself, Bella?"

What an inane question. "What is there to tell?" I asked.

He still hadn't stopped smiling, and the smile hadn't stopped dazzling me. "If I told you, that wouldn't help me," he replied.

Fine, I could play that way. "I am female, Caucasian, eighteen years old," a smirk played on my lips as I tried my best to get under his skin, "I am of average height, average weight, and I have medium length brown hair, brown eyes, and a crooked finger."

"Why do you have a crooked finger?" he asked, not missing a beat.

"Locker accident, seventh grade," I replied.

"You weren't so clumsy you slammed your own finger, were you?" He asked playfully.

"Something like that," I said dismissively. I wasn't going to tell him about my experiences inside half the lockers in the local middle school.

He looked at me as if he didn't believe that, but he continued to press for information. "What else about you, Bella?"

A chill ran down my spine when he said my name like that. "There is nothing else to tell," I replied.

He smiled again. "Now, I know that isn't true," he said, reaching into a desk drawer, "I have this file that tells me everything you just said, minus the finger, and more."

I stared. Of course I knew he had my file, but it still stung to know that he had all of this insider information on me and I had no idea what it was.

He noticed my discomfort and his eyes sparkled again. He looked at me with a face of pure sincerity and said, "I don't believe that healthy patient-therapist relationships can occur if I secretly jot things down behind your back. You, as an adult client, have every right to your file, did you know that?"

I nodded, even though I wasn't aware of that. The last time I had seen a therapist, I had been underage, and the woman held secret meetings with my parents after every session. There was a big, fat file all about me that I was expressly forbidden to read. So, of course, I stole it, and what I read was heartbreaking. I wasn't sure I wanted to know what he had on me.

"Would you like to know what this says?" he asked.

Curiosity got the better of me. I nodded again.

I had expected him to simply read snippets of it to me, so I was surprised when he leaned over the desk to hand me the folder. I took it and ruffled through the papers inside.

On top was simply a copy of my transcript. Boring. Followed by immunization records. Also boring. Standardized test scores, parental contact information, detention records… things I already knew. I found several gifted placement evaluations from teachers in the past, and smiled a little bit on the inside as I read their glowing reports. "Bella is a pleasure to have in class," one read. "Bella is one of the most brilliant students I have ever encountered," gushed another. "Opinionated and strong, Bella shows great potential for college-level writing," exclaimed a third. I read page after page detailing my bright, open, engaging personality and stellar performance.

I picked up one of the later reviews. My heart sank, and my egotistical high vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "Bella has become disengaged from class and from her peers," Sra. Gonzales had written. What should I care, I'm still better than everyone else in that class. "Although still above average, the student's work has slipped," wrote Mr. Banner. He's a jerk anyway. "Bella has developed the habit of sleeping in class," wrote Mrs. Drake. Maybe if her class wasn't so boring, I'd stay awake.

I skipped past the rest of the teacher evaluations, bored with their contents. There were only a few sheets of paper left. I stared in horror as I realized they were suicide watch sheets. That bastard, Harris, had instructed each of my teachers to fill out forms rating my tendencies toward depression and suicide. Apparently, they all thought I was lethargic, irritable, sensitive to criticism, and had "withdrawn from friends." Drake had even stapled my poetry assignment to the back of hers. Bitch.

I shut the folder and handed it back to him, staring at my lap so that he couldn't see the tears in my eyes. I felt humiliated, knowing that they all had been filling out evaluations and having conferences about me behind my back. They all knew that I was being forced to see a shrink, and they kept it to themselves, hoarding their smug little secret while I sat in their classes every day. I wanted to burn the file and transfer schools.

"Can I go now?" I croaked at Mr. Cullen. I didn't think I could bear the humiliation of crying in front of him on top of everything else.

"Not just yet," he said softly. "I wholeheartedly believe in clients having access to their files- in context and with guidance."

I realized with another painful blow that he had played me. Now he could make me stay and talk about my feelings. Team School: 2; Swan: 0.

"What do you do for fun, Bella?" he asked.

I hadn't expected that. Maybe I wouldn't have to talk about the file after all. "Um," I mumbled. The question was harder than I thought. "I don't have much time for fun right now," I said.

"Well, what did you do for fun when you did have time?" he pressed.

I brightened. I was once good at music and writing. "I'm a pianist," I replied. "and I write."

"What about Mary?" he asked.

I blinked. "Who the hell is Mary?" I asked. Another of Charlie's girlfriends? I didn't usually meet them, as he tried to keep them away from Renee.

Mr. Cullen picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. "Dr. Harris wrote me some notes to start on," he said. "He wrote that your best friend was a Mary Brandon."

I laughed, "Alice. Her name is Mary Alice."

He gave me his smile again. "Dr. Harris isn't really on the ball, is he?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes, "I could have told you that."

"Well," he said, suddenly businesslike, "You'll just have to bring me up to speed, since apparently Dr. Harris is wrong about everything."

Given that this man had just forced me to play his game without prior knowledge of the rules, I was wary. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he replied, "That we'll set aside this file," he pushed the folder under a stack of papers, "and you can tell me what you think is going on.

My mood lifted. I could convince this guy that nothing was wrong. I could get out of this whole counseling mess. I could do this. "I don't think anything is going on. I think Dr. Harris just needed something to do with his spare time since the golf course flooded."

Mr. Cullen chucked at his desk. "Why don't you have time to write or play piano?"

I thought for a second. Why don't I write or play anymore? "I'm just too tired when I get home. I don't feel like it. And I don't have any words worth writing."

I thought he would push the tired issue, but he didn't. "Do you spend much time with Alice?" he asked.

"Yeah, I practically live at her house, I guess."

"Do you spend much time with your parents?"

I laughed on the inside. "No," I said flatly, "I don't."

His hand twitched as if he were about to jot that down, but he thought better of it. "Tell me about them."

"Charlie's the fat forty-something police chief and Renee is his flaky wife," I responded. I was not getting into this with him.

"Flaky how?" he asked, fighting a smile.

I sighed, "She's not home much, she's never held down a job for very long, and she's not very responsible with money."

"And Charlie?" he prompted.

"Not home often. He's usually at work or off fishing at the reservation. I prefer it that way."

"Why?" He inquired, looking up through his long eyelashes.

I opened my mouth, intending to speak. It was as if his gaze compelled me to spill all the dirty little details I so wished to keep hidden. "I-" I started, but cut myself off. I would _not_ let him have this power over me.

He tilted his head, his eyes begging me to continue.

"No," I said.

"No, what?" he asked in a voice dripping with innocence.

"I'm not sharing this with you," I retorted. "I don't know you. I don't know anything about you. I don't even know your first name."

He gave me yet another crooked smile. If it weren't the most incredibly irresistible, Bella-melting smile ever, I would be irritated with his condescension. "I suppose that was rather rude of me," he conceded. "My name is Edward." His eyes flashed again, and his smile curled into a devious grin. "I'm male, Caucasian, and twenty-five years old," his smile widened as he observed my frustration. "I am above average height, consider myself to be quite fit, and I have reddish hair, green eyes, and ten perfectly straight fingers."

"Cute, but not very original," I replied, regaining my composure.

"Have I irritated you?" he asked, leaning ever so slightly over the desk.

"Not at all," I smiled, fighting to keep my breathing even.

He continued smiling, "Would you like to hear more about me?" His voice dropped, becoming even sexier than before.

I nodded, proud of myself for not openly swooning. "If it means time where I don't have to talk about myself," I managed to reply.

"I suppose I could give you that," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "I'm a third year psychology graduate student working toward my Ph.D., and I'm here doing my counseling rotation. I don't get paid, so that tells you how much I like doing this sort of thing. I also play piano, I live off sushi, and my favorite Crayola crayon is goldenrod."

I couldn't help but smile. I felt so immensely attracted to Edward, and it warmed me just to know these little things about him. I found his little crayon quirk irresistible, and I wanted to watch him attempt to eat sushi rolls delicately.

He smiled back, leaning forward and maintaining eye contact. "You have a beautiful smile, Bella," he said softly, "why don't you wear it more often?"

I nearly died from blunt dazzling trauma, but I somehow remained in my chair. "Surely you have a friend in optometry school, you should see him about those eyes," I replied.

He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the bell. I thought I saw the slightest hint of a frown cross his face. "I'll debate with you next week, Bella," he said, rising from his chair.

I stood as well. "I suppose, Mr. Cullen," I said, reaching for my backpack.

He was too fast. He reached down and handed it to me, saying, "Call me Edward."

I smiled weakly and stumbled out of the office, briefly contemplating how I could convince Harris I needed daily therapy.

* * *

A/N: I suppose I've forgotten to include the standard fanfiction disclaimer:

Mine: the best real man ever.

Not mine: Edward Cullen, the best fictional man ever. (I think I just shed a tear).

Anyway, please review, even if it's just a sentence saying you read it. It's some pretty awesome encouragement just to know you read my stuff.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh my god," Alice squealed, practically knocking her bowl of ice cream into her lap. "How did I not know such a hottie worked at our school?"

I shrugged, indifferent. I leaned back into the hard wooden chair and stared off toward the opposite wall of Alice's kitchen. As Alice continued to spoon ice cream into her mouth, I took advantage of her temporary silence to think about Edward. _Edward._ He gave me permission to call him _Edward_. I couldn't get his name or his face or his voice off my mind. I had spent the rest of the school day in a haze, mulling over every syllable he had spoken to me during our abbreviated appointment. I savored the memory of each time he had spoken my name, effectively giving myself chills all over again.

"So what did you guys talk about?" Alice prompted, bringing me back down to reality-the painful, unfortunate reality in which I would not see Edward again for a week.

"Just standard therapy intake stuff, I guess," I said, delivering another heaping spoonful of delectable mint chocolate chip to my lips.

"Like what?" she pried.

"What if I want to keep my therapy private?" I replied. "Some of this stuff could be personal, you know."

Alice rolled her eyes, "Oh yeah right, Bella. One: I am your B.F.F. There is nothing that you would withhold from me but disclose to anyone else. Two: You just met this guy and you are the most closed-off, emotionally detached person ever, so I know you probably just gave him roundabout, vague answers to everything he asked, didn't you?"

I sheepishly nodded. If I weren't already so attached to Edward, Alice could be my therapist.

Alice nodded in confirmation. "And three," she said, pointing at me, "you and I both know that you want to spill every juicy detail about your encounter with him, so do it. I don't want to play your hard-to-get game."

I sighed. Alice did know me far too well for my own good. "He's amazing," I started, "he's clever and quick-witted. He matched me step for step with every snarky comment I threw. And his eyes…" I faltered, swooning again at the thought of his penetrating gaze. "I melt, just from eye contact." I finished simply, unable to describe exactly how he made me feel. "And he said I have a pretty smile," I added quickly.

Alice let out a tiny squeak, "Ohhh, I'm so jealous of you! And it sounds like he really likes you."

I laughed, "Yeah, sure."

Alice gave me a disapproving look. "Trust me, Bella, it sounds like this guy is really into you."

"It's his job to pretend to like me, Alice."

"It's not his job to tell you cute little quirks about him, though."

"It is if it gets me to open up," I said dismissively, "he specializes in playing mind games. He has a degree in it."

Alice rolled her eyes at me "Fine, be that way. But I know what I'm talking about," she huffed, turning back to her ice cream.

I stood, intending to refill my bowl. "Guys don't like little emo poetry nerds- especially not smart, sexy, twenty-something-year-olds," I said, digging through the freezer.

"You would be surprised at what some guys like," Alice replied. "And anyway, we know Jake likes you."

"Ha, that's a good one." I took another bite of heavenly good coldness. "You and I both know Jacob just likes having someone to boss around."

Alice gave me her stern look. "And you and I both know what I've told you about that."

I rolled my eyes, "It's not a big deal. It's not like he hits me or anything. He just tells me what to do, then I ignore him, then he yells, and I lie and apologize. It gives him something to do and it gives me a self-esteem boost, having a boyfriend."

"But you could have someone better…"Alice taunted in a sing-song voice.

"No I couldn't…" I mocked her.

"When is the last time Jacob said you had a pretty smile? Or complimented you at all?" Alice countered.

"Eh… probably before we were dating," I conceded.

"Just imagine it, Bella, you could have this Edward guy calling you every night- on time, not just when you're waiting around for him to call- and he could tell you sweet things and ask about your day and you would love him…"

"Or, I could go have him ask me about my day every Monday, on time, because it's his job," I retorted, "because that's exactly all that's going to happen."

Alice glared at me. "Speaking of, aren't you late to sit around and wait for Jacob to call?" she asked, acid dripping from every word.

I slowly and casually licked ice cream from my spoon. "Jacob can go suck one."

Alice grinned. "That is exactly what I like to hear!" she exclaimed. "Let's go put on slutty skirts and get ogled at the mall. It'll do wonders for your self-esteem." She hopped out of her chair and tugged at my arm.

I frowned at her. "I'm not done with my ice cream."

Alice let go. "Yeah, I was wondering about that. I've never seen you eat so much in years."

I contemplated that, staring at my bowl. I normally had the nonexistent appetite that supermodels dream of; forcing myself to eat something while others were watching had become a daily routine for me. I didn't know what had gotten into me today, but I felt famished, and wanted nothing more than to stuff myself with Ben & Jerry's.

I shrugged, "I must have gotten really worked up over the whole forced therapy thing."

"Yeah, probably," Alice grabbed my arm again, "but you need to stop or you won't fit into any of my skank-wear. Come on…"

I surrendered to Alice's dress-up whim and followed her up the stairs, praying that Edward simultaneously did and did not shop at the local mall.

***

Edward did not, in fact, shop at the local mall- at least not on a Monday afternoon. In actuality, the only people at the mall were assorted classmates of ours, likely due to the diminutive population of our town. When she realized that we were not going to score any phone numbers or Facebook invites, Alice insisted upon shopping. I suspected that she really just wanted to shop all along, but needed a ploy to drag me along as a caddy.

Ten stores and seven shopping bags later (Alice's of course, as I had purchased only a cinnamon roll), Alice dropped me off at my house. As she sped away, already chirping at her phone, I took a second to gather my wits and brace myself before entering the house.

I could hear them screaming as I opened the door. I winced and tried to shut the door as quietly as possible to avoid detection.

"I can't believe after all these years you still expect a docile Stepford wife!" Renee screamed.

"I can't believe that after all these years and enlightened feminist like you couldn't find a job!" Charlie retorted.

"Maybe if I weren't stuck in this shithole of a town, I'd be able to have a career!"

"You know, those of us who aren't lazy around here do manage to have successful careers!"

Renee laughed her shrill, piercing screech, "Ha! Because inheriting the position of police chief of Mayberry is a definite success."

I managed to creep around the corner and had hit the stairs when Charlie noticed me.

"You! Since your worthless mother can't find the time to do it, make dinner," he barked at me.

Disappointed in my failure, I shrugged off my backpack and headed to the kitchen.

Charlie put his hand out and stopped me. "Are you just going to leave that there for someone else to pick up?" he asked, pointing at my bag.

I opened my mouth to respond "I-"

"You're just like your mother," he cut me off, "Put that away, now!"

Wondering exactly how one could become so anal-retentive that they minded a backpack placed unobtrusively in the corner, I picked up my bag and walked casually up the stairs. I wasn't going to show them any emotion.

"Don't you compare me to her!" Renee shrieked at Charlie.

Charlie apparently ignored her, because he yelled at me before I had even reached my bedroom. "Don't think you're getting out of making dinner! Get your ass back down here now!"

I threw my bag into my room and hurried back down the stairs. It was best not to irritate Charlie too much. He glared at me as I quickly moved across the living room and into the kitchen. Renee stood, glaring at him, clearly waiting for his undivided attention before she resumed their argument.

They continued to argue, albeit more quietly, while I prepared dinner. Lacking the qualifications of a five-star chef, I settled for boiling spaghetti noodles and microwaving some sauce. I was lucky we had those around- Renee apparently hadn't been grocery shopping in quite a while.

Renee and Charlie's fight had simmered down by the time I had finished the spaghetti. When I called them to dinner, Charlie demanded that I bring a plate to him in his recliner, and Renee informed me that she was leaving and would get something while she was out. Pleased that I had escaped the torment of a family dinner, I retreated to my room.

I laid down on my bed and reflected upon the day's activities, namely, my encounter with Edward. Although the pain and humiliation of being forced to see a psychologist against my will were still present, they were overshadowed by my new, obsessive, schoolgirl crush. I reflected over everything we had discussed and tried to predict what questions he would ask next week so I could prepare myself. I thought about what I had said about how I never had time to write anymore, and contemplated taking up my old hobby again.

I got up and sat at my computer, staring blankly at an empty document. What had happened to my creativity and my drive? I had at one point written countless volumes of poetry and short stories, and had even worked on a few longer novels. After a few failed sentences, I concluded that my talent had atrophied without use, and abandoned the project altogether.

I crawled back into bed, exhausted by my creative attempt and eager to fall asleep before Renee came home and started another fight. I drifted into dreamless sleep.

***

I was abruptly awoken around 1:30 in the morning by the telephone ringing. I grabbed it before it could wake Charlie. The last thing I needed was him barging up here, groggy and drunk.

"Hello?" I asked tentatively, although I was relatively sure of the caller's identity.

"Bella, babe, you waited," Jacob's voice was cheery on the other end. That was a relief.

"Yeah, actually, I was sleeping," I grumbled.

"Oh," Jacob paused. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you about this awesome game me and the guys played today. You won't believe this, so it's Embry and Quil versus me and Seth and…"

I drifted off to sleep while he babbled on about the awesome shot he made. I woke up enough at the end of his story to congratulate him and to formally say good night, then immediately fell asleep upon hanging up the phone.

I dreamed peacefully of sushi and goldenrods while a soft piano lullaby played in the distance.

* * *

A/N: My apologies for such a delay in updating. Sometimes life becomes very hectic and must take a priority over fanfiction writing, much to my disappointment.

If you haven't given up on me, please review. Comments make me happier than cookies (and I really like me some cookies).

Also...

Mine: An annoying kitty cat named Sassy

Not mine: An annoying puppy dog named Jacob. (Thank God).


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: So, I totally, completely, absolutely loathe stories in which the author bounces back and forth between viewpoints within a chapter like an ADHD squirrel on methamphetamine.

But I love Edward.

So, I tried to do some character development on him... and I got this. And it's so lovely, I just had to share it with you.

Besides, it's not really hard to follow when you change viewpoints between chapters, right? I mean, SMeyer even did it in that monstrosity _Breaking Dawn_.

Anyway, more similarities to SMeyer, my Edward-POV JUST GOT LEAKED ON THE INTERNET!

But I did it, so it's okay.

Read on, you crazy diamond.

* * *

_Ring!_

I listened as the final bell of the day cued shouts of freedom from the student body. I longed to shout with them, as I surely had awaited this moment with equal, if not greater, fervor. However, as a professional, I was forced to usher out my last student of the day, gather my things, and walk out of my office in a dignified manner.

I walked out the front doors and across the brick promenade, pushing my way through the huddled crowds of teenagers. As I forced my way around one particularly rotund specimen, I nearly dropped my briefcase.

There, sitting atop the low brick wall, was the angel I had spent the afternoon fruitlessly attempting to banish from my mind.

Her dark hair whipped around her contrastingly pale face in the wind, and she held her head up with an air of superiority over the chaos around her. Everything around me seemed to stop as I watched her descend the wall, stride across the promenade, and climb into a car with another girl. I continued to gawk as they drove away- until the mass behind me shoved into me, breaking my concentration.

"Watch it," the swine grunted, as if I had run into him.

I ignored him- I had far more important things to think about. I quickly marched across the parking lot, evaded several speeding vehicles, climbed into my Volvo, and escaped.

Unlike the teenagers with no regard for human life, I waited until I was out on the open road before I really put my foot down.

Normally, I loved driving. I loved the sense of control with which it empowered me, and I loved the adrenaline rush that accompanied watching scenery fly by with no hope of focus. Today, however, I was still preoccupied with thoughts of my school day.

It had started out as I had expected- I drove out to my Monday school, and met with my first student of the day. Lauren Mallory was not my first choice of early-morning company, but her father was on the school board, and he insisted she have a recurring appointment. From the few weeks I had spent listening to her prattle, I surmised that she had bullied her father into getting her an appointment with me just to satisfy what just may have been the most pathetic crush ever.

Every week, she strutted into my office wearing clothing that surely broke every facet of the dress code. She would bat her eyelashes and ask me about my weekend, then she would dive into her personal life, detailing everything she had done since she stepped out of my office the previous week. She would drop hints in (what she thought was) a seductive voice, adding that I should join her and her friends for soaking in her parents' hot tub and drinking stolen wine coolers. When I resisted her advances, she tried to make me jealous by detailing sexual escapades with teenage boys who may or may not have existed.

The most difficult part of dealing with Lauren Mallory was trying not to laugh at her feeble attempts at seduction. Occasionally, I couldn't hold back a grin, which she misinterpreted and took for encouragement. Once encouraged, she would throw herself at me, making me thankful that I had my desk as a protective barrier. I had spoken with Dr. Harris regarding both her behavior and the fact that she did not need therapy (save that to cure her narcissism). Harris, however, knew the ins and outs of school board politics, and decided I should continue to see the monster, no matter how much of my time she wasted.

Once I had managed to eject Lauren from my office (seven minutes and thirty-five seconds after the end of her allotted time), I headed back to my office to catch up on my mounting pile of paperwork. No such luck.

Dr. Harris intercepted me before I could get back in the door, and requested that I follow him to his office.

"I've got a real challenge for you here," he had said, chuckling as he handed me the folder.

I hadn't believed him. What eighteen-year-old girl was really so deep she posed a challenge to me? Which one of us had spent six years studying psychology anyway?

But Harris had insisted that I would need preparation, so I read his folder and made tentative notes on how to approach the student. But I still didn't believe… until I met her.

Harris had told me that he thought it would take some time before he could convince the girl to come down to my office, and he had been correct. The period was nearly halfway over when he knocked on my door, ushering in the most breathtaking woman I had ever seen.

Her dark hair, windblown and strewn about her face, contrasted sharply with her alabaster skin in the most pleasing way. Her face was beautiful, as was her slim body, but those weren't what immediately attracted me to her.

I couldn't help but stare into her dark brown eyes, encapsulated by shadowy circles. Her eyes held secrets and depth obviously beyond her age. And the pain- I wanted to take her into my arms and hold her until her eyes no longer reflected this soul-scorching agony. I felt irreversibly drawn to her by the suffering we most definitely shared.

I stood to shake her hand. She stared at me with a deer-in-headlights look, but she carried an air of defiance. I could tell she planned to be challenging.

As we spoke, her defiance became more and more pronounced, and she retreated into silence when not forced to answer my questions. I'm sure she felt she was winning, but her posturing and her sideways glances told me everything I needed to know.

Her wit, however, was nearly unmatched, and with every sharp retort I longed to leap across my desk and kiss her fragile lips. I had never met such a woman, and I cursed my luck that the one I met was an off-limits student.

I felt guilty that I had in essence violated her privacy. I had read her school records, her previous therapist's notes, and even her poetry. This was, of course, perfectly acceptable knowledge for Mr. Cullen, the therapist, to acquire. But for Edward, the potential soul mate, it was creepy and reminiscent of a stalker.

I cursed myself internally. _Soul mate_? Really? I tried to remind myself that this girl was nothing to me; she was only a student, a client, a _child_ who would begrudgingly show up to my office and leave, never giving me a second thought between visits.

But I knew better. I saw the look in her eyes and the way her breath caught when I handed her the bag, standing ever so slightly too close for comfort. I knew she had felt the sexual tension in the air, and I knew she and I wanted the exact same forbidden things.

Dr. Harris had been correct- Isabella Swan would be the most challenging client of my short career.

I pulled into my driveway, still trying to shake the thought of her from my mind. It was inappropriate to continue thinking about her in this manner.

But I would anyway.

I walked into my house and tossed my briefcase onto the couch. I decided caffeine would clear my head, and started toward the kitchen.

Emmett, my roommate, stuck his head out from behind the already open refrigerator door. "Hey, buddy, how was work?"

I shrugged. "Same old, same old," I replied.

* * *

More A/N:

Mine: A short, bubbly BFF who likes to shop for anime.

Not Mine: A short, bubby BFF who likes to shop for clothes.


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